


You can't see this

by yue_ix



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Anonymity, Aphrodisiacs, Blindfolds, Drugged Sex, Handcuffs, Interrogation, M/M, Marathon Sex, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Other: See Story Notes, Power Dynamics, Sex Pollen, Something Made Them Do It, Unconscious Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yue_ix/pseuds/yue_ix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick is drugged with an aphrodisiac that strips him of most of his reasoning ability. Someone is there to help him through it. Nick doesn't remember most of it. (Sex-pollen/aphrodisiacs PWP)</p><p>Set around ep 17, "Love Sick".</p>
            </blockquote>





	You can't see this

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Antares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antares/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Вслепую](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902638) by [LaCalaveraCatrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaCalaveraCatrina/pseuds/LaCalaveraCatrina)



> **Content notes:** POV of a character under the influences of a rape drug. The aphrodisiac disorients Nick to the point that he cannot recognize his surroundings, the person next to him, his own body's reactions, or the passing of time. Consent can't be given and is never asked from either participants, just as safe sex is never mentioned. It gets rough and features bondage (held down and handcuffs) and blindfolds. Nick doesn't ends up noticeably physically or mentally harmed; however, that's in a context that he doesn't perceive nor remember most of, and we don't see much aftermath in the story. 
> 
> This piece also contains some D/s, authority figures, anonymity, exposure, and interrogation. Please let me know if you would like to see further content notes.

“-- Nicholas!”

“Wha- ?” Nick asks. He blinks his eyes open. The world spins and the overhead light burns a direct path into his brain. He groans and tries to roll over.

Someone pushes him and Nick falls back to the floor. His head is stuffed and his limbs, heavier than lead. He manages to lift a hand and flops it onto his face. He squints through the meager shade it provides. There is a blurry shape leaning over him; it's male, with dark hair, paler side of skin, broad shouldered, perhaps tall. It's not Hank, but could be Wu, or a complete stranger for all that Nick can focus.

He licks his lips, swallows against the cotton feel in his mouth. “Are we in a hospital?”

“No.” The voice comes from a long distance away. “Nick. Nick, stay with me. What happened?”

Nick racks his brains. He remembers staying after hours to research at his desk. It was a warm and damp night. The AC must have been broken. Shucking his jacket and rolling his sleeves up didn't help. Nor did finishing up his tea or splashing his face and neck with cold water in the bathroom; it just made him dizzier. He meant to come back for his jacket and shoes then go back home. Juliette was pulling a late shift, but Nick reasoned that even an empty bed would be better than his desk if he was falling sick.

He can’t remember the drive home though.

“Sick, I think? Am I still... at work?” He mumbles.

“Yes, you're at the precinct,” the person says, even as they pry away Nick's raised arm by the wrist. Nick blinks up at the neon light on the ceiling, watches it waver, nearer then further away. After a moment of silence, Nick realizes a thumb his taking his pulse. Another hand comes up to his throat, sliding over sweat and overheated skin. It feels so good Nick's eyes roll into his head. He keens, arching into the touch.

The person stills. Nick turns his face into the hand. His lips tingle less when he presses them against the hand. He bites and licks at the fingers he can reach, savors the comforting texture and taste of skin. “Who are you?” Nick asks.

Instead of answering, the man retreats, rises up. Nick tries to follow after him but falls back down, panting. There's quick movements before fabric falls over his head. Nick is too weak to fight his way out. He rubs his cheek against the cloth instead, inhales deep. It smells of musk and dust. Maybe a coat. It is still body warm and hides the blinding light. Nick closes his eyes.

The man is walking around. The silence seem to amplify every noises. Nick can hear blinds being pulled, a door closing, lamps clicking, a chair roll, papers being shuffled. The man is talking, but Nick can't understand the words. He wonders if someone else is there. He doesn't cares.

 

Someone is shaking his shoulder. He's still on the floor. The coat has been folded underneath Nick's lancing head.

“Il n'est-- attends, il se réveille. Nick, can you hear me. Who gave you this?”

An object is thrust in front of his face. Nick stares at it until he can recognize it as his own coffee mug. It still has his tea pouch at the bottom, the thread wrapped around the handle. Its delicious ginseng smells makes his mouth water and his stomach cramp with hunger. He can't look away from the few dregs rimming the bottom of the cup. His mouth is parched, his veins pumping lava. He needs to drink. He doesn't know he's reaching for the mug until the man intercepts his arm, squeezes it before letting go. “Who gave you this?” He's asked again.

“The tea? A...” _Zauberbiest_ , Nick almost says. M. Trude had been kind and helpful, after the shock of having a Grimm on his doorstep asking about missing people.“... An old man from the Brennholz case?” Nick trails off, closing his eyes. His thoughts are floating out of reach.

The man has gone back to talking to someone. Nick thinks it's in another language, but he can't be sure. He grasps forward until his fingers clench cloth, then tugs at it, needing contact. He feels like he's being burned out of his skin. It takes two tries to make his tongue work. “Are you human?”

“Are you?” The man asks. A hand covers Nick's eyes, pressing him back into darkness. Nick is grateful for it.

 

Nick wakes to being straddled. Someone is unbuttoning his shirt. He hums, tilts his head back for a kiss. He's disappointed when none follows but feels too hazy to mind much. “Am I drunk?” he laughs.

“No,” a much too deep voice answers. “You're drugged.”

Nick frowns in the dark. His eyelashes catch on cloth. He's blindfolded. Adrenaline surges through Nick, a merciful shock of cold flooding through his feverish haze.

A heavy weight is keeping him down. Nick raises his hands and digs weak fingers into strong clothed thighs. He breathes in and out, assessing the situation as best he can.

The surface underneath him still feels like the cool linoleum of the precinct, but Nick can't be sure, just like he can't tell if they are alone. He guesses at being watched, but that's given with the man leaning over him. His chest and arm hair prickle with nerves. His body aches, his thoughts are slow, yet every brush of skin electrifies him. It might be fear or it might be yearning. Perceptions are hard to untangle at the moment.

Everything is moving too fast. Nick kneads at the man's legs, restless, not sure if he wants to push him away or clutch him closer. “Was it you?”

“No. Don't worry, I'll catch them and they'll pay.” There's a clear promise of violence in the air. Nick's open shirt is dragged out of his pants. He shivers.

“And what will you do to me?” He has to ask.

Hands settle on his waist. They're broad and strong, grounding him. They also make him hyper-aware of everywhere they aren't touching. He squirms and grabs the man's shoulders, sliding to frame his neck. It's large; Nick's thumbs dig between the man's tendons. Nick hopes he recognizes it as the threat it is, no matter how feeble Nick feels in his current condition.

“I'll take care of you,” the man answers at last.

Another frisson travels through Nick, shakes his thoughts apart, makes him cry out and arch against the hard floor. The man sits up to hold his shoulders down, and Nick realizes pressure hasn't left his lap alongside the weight. His remaining clothes are too constrictive. He either needs to pee or to come, and can't concentrate long enough to figure which. He needs to burst, to roll over, to claw, to fight, to bite and fuck. He needs.

“Why is this happening?” Nick gasps.

“It's a drug that affects grimms. Some of your components are very valuable. There are only a few cures, and none we can make in such a short time. You'll have to see it through. You're strong; you can do that.”

The man sounds sure. Nick isn't. Nick doesn't know what is happening but he knows something is wrong. For one, this man shouldn't know any of this, and that would make him suspect in any occasion. Dangerous in this one.

Nick kicks out, hands scrambling to latch on to something, anything. The man catches his hands, grinds both together in a single-handed grip, pulling his arms taut over his head. Movement near Nick's groin makes him moan and writhe upward, distracting him from soft cloth being wrapped around his wrists until the familiar shape of handcuffs closes around one, is looped around something, and closes around the other wrist. The metal is cinched snug to his skin, but the cloth is preventing painful chafing. Tugging reveals his hands are tied up to something massive, maybe a desk.

Nick swears, wriggles upward to put one foot on the man's hip and keep him at bay. His knee is caught and brought aside though, the man laying his full length along Nick’s body, crushing him down. Nick goes ferocious underneath him for a moment, overwhelmed with sensations. He's breathing hard when he gets himself back under control.

“Calm down. I don't want you hurt.”

Nick swallows. “What do you want?”

“I only needed you to stay still so I can help you. But since you ask, perhaps you can help me too. Do you know who I am?”

Nick wonders if he's supposed to. He would like to lie and see if he can find out, except cold then warm waves keep sweeping over him. His body is shaking. “No.”

“Good. Where is the key?”

Nick's breath catches. “What key?”

The man's nose brushes Nick's cheek as he brings his face closer to murmur in his ear. “Let's not play that game. I can help you. Where is the key, Nick?”

The familiar, almost intimate repetitive use of his name as emotional manipulation pisses Nick off. He bucks to dislodge the weight pinning him down. He jerks his head to the side but the man has moved out of reach. Nick struggles until he's out of breath, raw and confused.

“Don't touch me,” he grinds out between his teeth.

Defiant, a hand caresses down his chest, fingers splayed wide. Fingertips dip in Nick's navel and a warm palm almost touches Nick's groin; a tease or a torture. “Will you tell me if I do?”

“No,” Nick blurts out, before licking his lips. Thinking is difficult, as is fighting the tremors breaking noises out of his throat. “Maybe. What?”

The man laughs. “I didn't think so. It was worth trying, but I need you sane.” Before Nick can struggle to understand that, the man puts a firm hand over Nick's chest. “Alright. Stop.”

Something in the order makes Nick freeze on reflex. His heart is beating rampant against the man's palm, resonating into Nick's temples. His lungs are on fire and all he wants to do is press back but his muscles are in lockdown. Nick's profession has taught him to be conscious of authority, often his own over civilians. This person knows how to wield his. Nothing exists but this moment of silence, of stillness, and Nick just has to comply and merge with it. He can't do anything else. Nick waits.

It takes a few long horrible moments, but after a while the man says, “Good,” and moves his hand down.

Nick's world is narrowed down to his points of contact with the man, and the drag of fingers feels like the gentlest of knives over frayed nerves. Nick groans, pleasure too close to pain to differentiate anymore.

The man doesn't waste time. He opens Nick's fly, tugs his pants and underwear down, and grips his cock. His grip feels sticky and Nick wonders when it is that he first came. The thought that the stranger perhaps knew all this time short-circuits Nick's brain. He comes within a few strokes, stretching up into the touch.

He's still gasping and coming down from the rush when the man starts over. Nick notices he's still hard in the man's grip. He bites his lips, but soon he’s mumbling encouragements.

After he's come a second time and is still hard, it finally sinks in how fucked he is. His dick chafes and his stomach is in knots. He's pulling at his arms but can't feel his hands. His feet are scrabbling on the floor. His blindfold is getting loose, and a crack of light is sliding under, piercing in its intensity. He cringes and a hand tightens the knot.

“Can you knock me out?” he ask the darkness, voice tight, and doesn't know whether he's joking.

“You'd burn out right away. Shh. You can pull through.”

“What-” Nick starts, but is cut out by another pulsing wave of sensations. He can't even call it pleasure anymore.

Nick loses sense of time.

The man uses his mouth to touch him, to hush him.

Nick swallows something but he can't taste it.

His knee slipping in a puddle of something is the only indication he has that he's been turned over.

Another moment in time, Nick thinks he might be yelling, but he can't hear anything. A hand covers his mouth and he thrashes. He bites down hard and tastes blood, but doesn't know whose it is. He feels wild and feral.

At a distance, he's aware of a hands tracing his scars, of someone memorizing every word and twitch he lets out, cataloging him. He wonders if this is how Wesen feel when he sees under their humanity.

White noise fills his vision and ears. Everything throbs.

Throughout it all the man is here, always, talking nonsense close to him, sometimes with the lilt of a question, sometimes what sounds like orders. The hands on him are rough or gentle in turn, and Nick's body thrums.

Eventually, awareness percolates back one slow heartbeat at a time.

His arms hurt. His face is wet. Breathing out dislodges whines from his raw throat. A hand is still resting against his mouth, and he's suckling at a few fingers. He pushes them out with his tongue to say something that he forgets all at once.

He feels loose. His mind and body are exhausted. His senses are wiped clean.

Speaking of, a wet cloth is dragging on his stomach. Something smells sharp and wrong. He flinches away. A rough voice tells him to go to sleep, and he complies on a sigh.

He's being moved, dressed, moved again. Maybe.

 

He's woken up by Juliette when she comes back from her late shift. He learns he looks awful, that he's in his car parked in his house entryway, has the imprint of his steering wheel on his cheek. He doesn't know when he got there. He only gets in with Juliette's help, since his legs are still too weak to support him fully. They laugh about it.

Nick gladly accepts her soup and cuddles, and falls asleep in the middle of both.

He dreams, and in the morning remembers the dreams better than the evening that came before. They are not bad, just weird, and he wonders what they mean.

He's back at the job after two days of sick leave. His coffee mug is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Made for the kink-bingo [prompt](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/583604.html?thread=4445364#cmt4445364): "Nick/Renard, AMTDI, dub-con." I made it aphrodisiacs instead of Aliens, and while I consider it explicit that the other person is Sean it might not be for everyone. I still hope you enjoy, prompter. :) 
> 
> Thank you anatsuno for being so kind as to beta this in a rush for me! <3


End file.
